Map of Dreams Read online

  Map of Dreams

  Seaside Sisters Series

  Kay Lyons

  Kindred Spirits Publishing

  MAP OF DREAMS Copyright © 2020 by Kay Lyons

  Cover Art: Copyright © 2020 @ konradbak

  978-1-946863-77-5

  978-1-946863-83-6

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  For more information about Kay Lyons, please visit her website at www.kaylyonsauthor.com.

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  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  About the Author

  FAQ

  Chapter 1

  Carolina Cohen raced down the street as quickly as Pearl, her pearl-white VW bug convertible, would take her. She turned the corner, spotted a parking space in front—and the massive truck heading for the same location—and floored it. Carolina held her breath and the truck jerked to a stop as she cut left and claimed the spot with a NASCAR swerve and a slam of the brakes. "Gotta be quicker than that, dude."

  "He looks mad."

  The roar of the diesel engine getting the gas punched was pretty good proof of her nephew Samuel's words. "The space is too small for that monster, anyway. Sammy, hurry and get your stuff. We're late."

  "I know. I told you we were late when you were still in bed. Remember?"

  Yeah, yeah. There was nothing quite like having her early-morning shortcomings pointed out by an almost-eleven-year-old who wasn't even her kid. "Pardon me for oversleeping after staying up most of the night to clean because of Holland hiring a contractor."

  "Your room was the messiest."

  Really, kid? Really? "Yeah, yeah. Just grab your backpack and let's go."

  They climbed out of the vehicle and rushed toward the school, squeezing in just under the required check-in time with a whole two seconds to spare. Carolina gave herself a mental pat on the back—until she spotted a parent figure with papers in hand and immediately realized she'd left Samuel's on the kitchen counter. "Nooo. I forgot to grab the forms."

  What now? Could she leave Samuel and go back and get them? She had to meet the contractor at the house for her sister Holland before going to work at the pier house. Could she drive back and get the papers, return to the school and get Sammy registered, go back to the house to meet the contractor, and then get to work on time?

  Her nephew shrugged off his backpack while releasing a put-out sigh, pulling papers from within. "I knew you'd forget."

  She took the required forms from him and tried to give him a quick hug, but the kid backstepped with an expression of total horror. "Hey, I'm not the plague. I just wanted to say thank you."

  "We're at school."

  "Right. I forgot you're too cool for that now. You're still the best, Sammy-son."

  Samuel rolled his eyes and zipped his backpack again as they followed the signs and arrows pointing them toward the summer program her sister Ireland had signed Samuel up for before leaving for a last-minute getaway with her fiancé.

  While Ireland and Dominic were living it up on some Caribbean island, it was up to Carolina and the remaining three sisters to Samuel-sit around the summer program hours. Normally Grandma and Grandpa would've done the honors, but it was also her parents' fortieth anniversary, and their father had surprised their mama with a Jeepster trip up the coast to Maine.

  "When will Aunt Holland be back?"

  Nice. Way to go making her feel even more like a scatterbrained idiot. "A week or two. She wasn't sure how long this job would take."

  "I hope it's soon. You forgot to get cereal again. I had to eat boiled eggs. I hate boiled eggs."

  Kick me when I'm down, kid. But Samuel had a point. Holland wouldn't have forgotten to get cereal, because she probably would've had it auto-delivered like the time-management and freakishly organized person she was. Ireland wouldn't have forgotten simply because it was her kid's favorite. "I'll get some today. Sometime. Or tomorrow. I'll make it happen, okay?"

  Holland's work trip had left Carolina to pick up the majority of the load where Samuel was concerned, and while she didn't mind, she figured it was a good way to prove she wasn't the ADHD problem her family had known her to be her entire life. She could handle herself and Samuel for a couple of weeks, and maybe in doing so, her family would finally see she was perfectly capable of taking care of herself and change their attitude about her life goals.

  "Ah, man."

  Distracted as was her norm, she glanced at Samuel. "What's wrong?"

  Samuel lowered his voice. "Nothing."

  "Come on." Since he'd lowered his voice, she followed suit. "Tell me."

  "It's just… I told Mom this wouldn't be fun."

  "What makes you think it won't be fun? We just got here."

  "Yeah, but the only kids I know from my school are the super-smart ones."

  "So? You're super-smart, too."

  "Not like them. They read. Like, for fun and not because they have to. And they always ace everything. I'm doomed."

  Carolina covered her mouth and fake coughed to disguise the laugh desperately trying to erupt while eyeing a couple of the kids prompting Samuel's concern.

  How was it possible that, at such young ages, the cliques were all ready forming? Samuel was smart but by sheer appearances alone, he had a point. Where he was strong in sports and all things boy and dressed the part in his typical gym shorts and a basketball shirt, the kids he referenced looked every bit the super-smart, up-and-coming professionals kids like, well, them tended to be. The kind that would one day give Bill Gates and that Branson guy a run for their money.

  So strong were their super-smart appearances and intimidating stares because of their confidence in their brains, her less-than-stellar school record and lack of definitive career rose up to bite her. It was all too easy to picture the kids gathered ordering her about in their adulthood. Or owning one of the fabulous homes you so desperately want to house-sit. Yeah, wouldn't that be nice. "It'll be fine."

  Even she could tell her words lacked conviction. But maybe that was a good thing for Samuel to see? Kids these days needed a reality check from all of the helicopter parents because, no, not every kid could grow up and do anything they wanted. Regular people weren't astronauts. Or Bill Gates.

  Way to keep it positive, Caro.

  Whatever. It was true, regardless. And, yeah, she felt guilty leaving Samuel behind to face them alone when she stood there intimated by them as a twenty-five-year-old adult who'd barely made it out of high school but—

  Can't be helped. You know you certainly wouldn't want to be stuck doing this on summer vacation. Hello, detention!

  But now wasn't the time to share with Samuel that there was more to life than good grades and big mortgages. She much preferred to experience life through her trave
ls than being stuck and weighed down by things. Pearl could hold all of her belongings and could be packed up and ready to motor within an hour's notice. She liked that.

  No, she loved it, actually.

  Who wouldn't? Being able to take off at the end of the tourist season to see parts of the States she'd never otherwise see was a good thing, in her humble opinion. Travel expanded mindsets—and that was priceless.

  Finally one of the red-T-shirted adults running the program called them forward and forced Carolina's racing mind back to the moment. She stepped up with the required forms in hand and confirmed the fact that Samuel's mother was away but would be back in two weeks and would check in with them then. Once Carolina signed off on the emergency contact information while Ireland—and Holland—were away, Samuel was told to go in and join the other kids gathered in the auditorium.

  "Have fun. Don't forget—"

  "Aunt Frankie is picking me up and dropping me off at Aunt London's."

  "And if she brings the bike?"

  "I have to wear the helmet."

  Maybe this kid stuff wasn't so hard after all. That was the responsible, parent-like thing to say, right?

  Maybe, but you can't claim it when you're only repeating something you've heard Ireland say a billion times.

  Carolina watched Samuel reluctantly join the others, and after taking a moment to stomp down the guilt she felt at leaving him looking so miserable, she turned without thought and found herself nose to chest with a man. A rather large—and more than a little smelly—man. She looked up. And up. Dang, his parents grew him big. "Excuse—"

  Two seconds. Two seconds was all it took for her brain to register the extreme likelihood that the man glaring down at her was the one she'd cut off in the parking lot. Mostly because he looked as though he wanted to take her head off and she'd had a vague flash of him sitting behind the wheel of that monster truck as she'd skated into the spot in front of him. "Um. Me."

  His sunglasses were pushed up on his head, and if not for his anger-tight expression, she could've found him handsome. And hot. He was clean-cut, with super-short brown hair on the sides, longish on top, with bright blue eyes, a squarish jawline and… whoa.

  Was that smell seriously coming from him? Dude.

  She discreetly sniffed and realized it positively was him. And while she'd mastered the technique of guarding her expressions, having dealt with so many fishermen and vacationing families coming inside the pier house after a sweltering day in the Carolina sun, she now struggled to hide her disappointment that such a cute guy, well, smelled when the day had only just started. A quick shower, some cologne. He could've at least put on a clean shirt.

  The dirty T-shirt was paired with cargo shorts and work boots that looked hot and miserable, especially considering the high today was in the low nineties. Good grief, she could only imagine how bad that shirt would reek by then.

  To keep from focusing on his… aroma, Carolina glanced down and found he held the hand of a little girl with mousy brown hair and thick-framed glasses. The blue eyes were the same, though hers looked red-rimmed and puffy behind the lenses.

  Allergies? The pollen was pretty high at the moment. Or maybe it was tears because of the awful, mismatched outfit the girl wore, which consisted of a pastel floral skirt and a bright orange T-shirt ten sizes too big tied up at her waist. Not to mention inside out. "Um, I don't think you're in the right spot."

  She remembered there being a defined age group for this program, and the little girl couldn't possibly be as old as Samuel. Carolina glanced over her shoulder to the red-shirted woman at the registration table. "Are you doing summer daycare, too?"

  "No, ma'am. Next."

  Without a word to Carolina, the man let go of the little girl's hand and gently steered her forward with his palm at her back. But not before searing Carolina with one last seething glare that left her thinking she really ought to mind her own business and… maybe apologize for stealing the parking spot. "Um…?"

  The man didn't turn around or acknowledge her once they'd moved to check in, and since he was busy, Carolina shrugged and put her feet into motion. She didn't have time to spare but she'd made the effort. Well, sort of. But if he'd turned around, she would have apologized, so that was basically the same thing. But he hadn't, so she hadn't, and that was on him. Right?

  Carolina glanced at her watch as she walked by the principal's office. She wondered if her record for most detentions in a year's time still stood at the middle school. Or had her achievement been surpassed by an up-and-coming delinquent whose attention span was as haphazard as her own?

  Shaking her head at her younger self, she burst out of the air-conditioned school into the humid, late-June sun of coastal North Carolina and climbed into Pearl.

  Late. She was going to be late for the meeting with the contractor. Late for work. Seemed like she was always late. Much to her family's annoyance and upset considering they were her employers.

  But what could she say? This was why she needed to land her dream job. It was so hard to punch a time clock when her brain demanded she be a go-with-the-flow kind of girl.

  * * *

  Silas Fletcher exited the building as the crazy woman backed out of the parking spot and shot forward like a pinball straight out of the chute. He shook his head and muttered under his breath about school zone speed limits and parents who had no regard for safety.

  He'd hoped to catch her without their kids around to discuss her driving, but maybe it was just as well given his mood. He wasn't sure he could hold his temper long enough to be civil.

  Silas went back to his truck but didn't get in. Instead he walked around to the rear passenger door and cleaned up the mess of Lucy's breakfast, lost to the dirt and tools and sand on the truck's floor when he'd slammed on the brakes. The one thing she had been able to keep was the milk carton—which she'd squeezed so hard trying to hold on to it that the milk had squirted out and soaked the shirt she'd picked out two weeks ago in anticipation of starting the summer school marine biology program.

  His almost-nine-year-old daughter had jumped at the chance of summer school and looked forward to this special program for months, even though the school had to give her a special pass due to her not meeting the age requirement. Luce had gotten up extra early to get ready but had been so nervous at attending the program with the older kids she'd had an upset stomach, which meant stopping on the way and going through a drive-thru to replace the food she'd hurled out of anxiety after a night where she'd sleepwalked twice. Something else she tended to do when anxious.

  Since they didn't have time to drive back for Lucy to change clothes, he'd given her the clean shirt he'd put on that morning, and now smelled like a soured sweaty gym sock thanks to the one and only shirt he'd found and put on to walk her inside.

  Silas did what he could to clean the booster seat Lucy was lawfully required to have due to her small size and weight and made a mental note to leave the windows down so the milk smell wouldn't be so bad as he drove around the island in ninety-degree weather.

  Giving up the chore because the booster seat was as soaked as her shirt, he slammed the rear door and climbed behind the wheel.

  A long day had started off badly, but thankfully his house was on the way to his first appointment, and he planned to squeeze in a stop to change shirts and grab a change of clothes for Lucy. He'd meet with the client, get the signed contract and keys, text the guys their instructions to get them started, drop Lucy's clothes off at the school, drive back by to make sure the guys were on track at the new jobsite, and move on to his next stop.

  There. He had a plan. Who said single dads couldn't get the job done?

  Chapter 2

  Late. The freaking contractor was late. Which meant she was going to be later.

  Carolina descended the steps to the covered carport area beneath the house, pausing long enough to put her hands on her hips and tap her foot while she glared at the road.

  Of all weeks… Why had H
olland been called away after scheduling repairs and a remodel with the contractor? And why not cancel them since she couldn't be here?

  What did she know about replacing roofs and decking and adding a crow's nest? If the guy had any questions, she certainly wouldn't be able to answer them. Nor would she since she'd probably get it wrong and say the opposite of what Holland wanted, and then her sister would go off the deep end when she finally got back from St. Lucia.

  Oh, to have a job like hers.

  The high-end resale company Holland worked for was Carolina's number-two dream job. Her sister actually got paid to travel the world to the clients' private islands and homes to value and list whatever outrageously expensive property they'd grown bored of and wanted to sell.

  No longer using a private island? Holland would be sent to stay there and enjoy the amenities, take photos, research, and list. Same with high-end cars, jets, jewelry, furniture, and the like. To Carolina, the only job better than Holland's would be to work as a professional house sitter, where all she'd have to do is remember to water the plants and lock the door behind her on the way out to explore.

  If you remember. Distracted much?

  Whatever. She was getting better at making lists to keep track of things. All she had to do was remember to actually check the lists once in a while.

  She could easily see herself traveling the world and being paid to care for fabulous homes while the owners were away. She'd gone through the preliminary interviews, passed the drug tests, and since she could pack at a moment's notice, she'd applied to multiple companies that handled that type of concierge service. Competition for the positions was fierce, though, and snagging one of them equated to winning the lottery. Sadly, the odds of winning were about the same as well.